


The Last of Her Kind

by stevegallacci



Category: Zootopia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 13:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevegallacci/pseuds/stevegallacci
Summary: In the far flung ends of the earth, the peaceful co-existence of prey and predator was late in coming. In this case, the sub-arctic North was the home of various wild tribes into the end of the nineteenth century. Territorial government outposts became the contact point between them and the civilized world.





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't exactly a fence, more a line of cairns, and not so much to delineate anything as to direct attention to what would have been a trading post in the bad old days. The mountain pass was more a wide shallow valley than some narrow crag, and in poor weather a traveler could miss the site entirely. 

More so in that the new structure was more tucked into a stand of trees to be less exposed to the weather. The original location burned down a generation or so ago and only a smaller cabin was constructed to take its place with the dwindling demands of the changing times.

Albert walked the line, looking for tracks, not that he expected any. The new snow was wet and heavy to slog through on the ground. Not good traveling conditions afoot, and the wild ones didn't know of skis. For that matter the townies didn't do skis either. Not a local tradition. And why didn't he do skis? He knew better after all. Something about tradition as well. 

At least the wind wasn't up and it wasn't raining or snowing at the moment. As bitterly cold as the really hard winter could get, he preferred it as snowfall totals tapered off and was dry powder rather than this near slush. 

Just short of the meandering little stream that ran through the valley there were some old flood washed snags and Albert noticed something in the snow lee of a root ball. With footprints.

It was a Lynx, a Molly, huddled in an inadequate pocket of shelter in the roots of the snag. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't responding to his touch at the moment either. From her crude garb, she was a wild, the first he'd seen in a few years. 

Of course she was bigger than he, as a Hare, and the snow was not conducive to an easy pull, especially as her overcape was improvised out of an old wool trade blanket, but he was able to haul her back to his cabin. Made easier when he transferred her to his oilcloth raincape. The initial effort had heated him and he had to shed excess layers to keep things managed. 

Once inside he began to strip her down. She was soaked though and deathly cold, but her paws didn't look frost bit. Under her woolen overcape she had an undercape of Caribou hide, he'd have to send a letter to the herds about that. There was some beadwork on it, possibly Anuncutt, old style beads made from bone. Then a deerskin dress, with more definite Anuncutt styling. And more paperwork with appropriate authorities. Finally a furry undertunic. It could be Hare. 

It wasn't the first time he'd seen the remains of his people on the back of others, but it always was a bit of a twinge. 

The Lynx was a young adult Molly, though very thin, starved from the looks of her form and coat. Albert stoked up the stove and put a pot on for warm water, then lit the fireplace. It tended to waste fuel, but would add plenty of radiant heat once going. He dried her off with some old cotton rags; he didn't have formal towels, and was alarmed at how cold she was. 

He wished he had a container, a half-barrel, or something big enough to use as a bathtub, but no luck there. He would just brush out in cold weather and use the stream in warm. A luke warm bath would be the best thing for her if he had anything. 

He hung several blankets and capes up around the stove and as they became warmed he placed them around her, rotating them off as they cooled against her. He also poked around the fireplace; he kept a few loose bricks around for this kind of thing and tucked warm ones in to the nest effect he had her in. 

As it quickly got too warm for him to be comfortable with all his kit on, he stripped down as well to just his long drawers. He checked on her every few minutes as he shuffled warm for cold and she no longer felt deathly chilled. 

While things warmed, he examined her kit more thoroughly. The overcape was fashioned from an old woolen trade blanket, a really old pattern, and though skillfully converted, the details suggested it had been done long ago as well, with telling wear and a lack of newer repairs. The other items were similar, well made but old, possibly a generation or more so. A couple more recent repairs were only roughly, inexpertly done. 

He checked his references, and found some older Anuncutt design notes consistent with those here. But they were the better part of a century removed and half a continent from here, at least according to the historical references. 

There were also a couple food pouches, modern oilcloth, a trade item, and had once held smoked fish, one of the fallback foods, along with fowl. A steel trade knife as well, though of an older pattern. And, finally, a short spear with a knapped stone point, a truly ancient piece. 

Albert noted each item and made sketches of the beading details for future reference. The pass was a natural passage from the truly wild empty expanses of the circumpolar north and civilized settled territories. When there was a trading post, those few hold out wild tribesfolk would come to exchange artifacts, carvings or intricate bead work, or sometimes small finds of gold or semi-precious stones for those few items of value to them. 

However, in his time, the last of the wild prey, his own people included, had given up the old ways, and by extension, their predatory co-dependents had trickled out of the wild as well. His outpost was the point of contact between those two worlds. He still did a tiny trade, but his primary task, a territorial government commission, no less, was to document the passage of a way of life. 

He prepared some weak tea, though heavy with honey. And some soup. It was out of a can, some kind of fowl, salty and shimmering with fat. With finely diced potatoes for some extra bulk. 

He didn't mind pred food, when spiced right, smelled even appetizing, and on occasion he'd take just a little for a little dietary variety, but kept plenty in stock for guests. It was likely the soup smells, as he hoped, that got the cat to stir. 

"Hello and be safe Little Sister." He murmured in the trade tongue, stroking her head. He didn't know Anuncutt, didn't know of anyone who did anymore, but hope she knew the common speech of the old tribes. She was awake, sort of, but seemed very blurry. He got up and brought the tea over, "Some sweet to drink, yes?" 

He held up the cup to her and when she sniffed it, grabbed at it and drank it down instantly. She hunched over the still warm cup to her chest, her huge paws engulfing it, a faint keen escaped her. Pain, relief, joy? 

"Little Sister, I have more for you, and soup too. Yes?"

It was only then did she really look at her benefactor, and she flinched at the sight. She made a brief exclamation in, presumably, her own tongue, then settled a bit. "You, the Food, would help me?" 

Albert wasn't surprised at that. Several of the wild tribes never entirely reconciled the idea that his people were really people rather than particularly belligerent food. Even as they came to trade in the old days, one had to be careful to not get caught up as an additional ration to take back to their tribal areas.

He brought her the whole pot of soup, as it was only warm, she could handle it in whole. She did know spoons and was a tidy eater. She did have the self-discipline not to simply gulp it down. Likely she regarded him as an enemy, and her kind were very conscious of keeping up appearances to their opponents. 

He prepared another cup of tea and offered it to her when she had finished the soup. 

When she had finished that, he offered her more of the warmed blankets to cuddle up into as well as a new rotation of warm bricks. 

Finally, "Grateful. The Food, saved me." She said.

"Named. Albert." He gestured to himself. "Named? Little Sister." Then to her. 

'No people, no name now. Albertwhosaves."

That was no surprise either for some groups. If one became orphaned, especially in the broader sense of the clan or tribe, the individual's identity was considered lost as well. 

"You are 'Little Sister' to me for now then." 

She nodded gravely. 

"See the house?" He made a sweeping gesture to the cluttered cabin interior. "Or rest for now?" 

She craned her neck to take in what she could from her fireside nest, but appeared to be too wobbly yet to get up. Seeing that, he brought over yet some more blankets and laid them within her reach as she might like them. She lay there, watching the fireplace for a good while before fading off into sleep. She had a little buzzing snore, almost cute, but he resolved to keep note of it, least it become a symptom of the Wheezes or worse. 

He went to his storage for a meal of his own. Sad looking but still reasonably tasty dried grass bundles. And a dab of kraut, he had several crocks of his homemade sauerkraut working, a more flavorful little addition to his over-wintering diet. There was some forage in the woods, twigs and young bark and such, but he had to admit to getting a bit spoiled by more civilized fair. 

And what to do with the Lynx? She was in no shape to travel, at least for a while. And even then, he was not keen on what would be a multi-day trudge to the Town. Maybe by late winter, if there wasn't too much over all snow, it wouldn't be so much a struggle. Though a little bit of him thought about the possible risk of being in some middle of nowhere campsite with a wild Lynx. 

Conversely, he was likely much safer here with her. She would likely respect the notion of guest, and that the location as a safe neutral ground. Over-wintering with a wild was something he'd done several times without incident. 

And if she was going to abandon the wild, he could teach her a few things about civilized life, and expand her language to some Zooian. Use of the old trade tongue was fading as various wilds assimilated and would limit her options. 

Worse, there were, as far as he knew, no surviving enclave of Anuncutt. The few individuals of the last generation simply fading into the wider population. She may be, in fact, the last wild of her kind. 

As he thought about it, what would the subarctic and woodland North be like without folks in it? True, there were still populations of rodents out there, but how would they fair in the long run? While they could endure with their traditional subsistence lifestyles, would they want to with the temptations of the modern world in sight? 

Ironically, without their traditional enemies/predators, they might have some cultural problems. Biologists of a more economic bend would fret about uncontrolled populations. But for those who study societies, losing such a central part of what defined themselves, not mere victims, rather steadfast survivors, even heroic defenders, might force them away from the old ways as much as anything else. 

Similarly, the Herds were divided between those who were willing to live the free life of year round grazers, even with the hardships, versus those who had become used to the comforts of fixed residents and barns full of fodder. 

Even his people were slow to embrace civilization. And there were still those in some of the isolated forests further south who still clung to the ancient ways. And though he lived in a snug cabin with an iron stove and kerosene lamps, he had not given up the harsh land of his youth. 

Enough of such musings, he had a job to do. There were reports to be written to the Herds about the hides. He would eventually have then shipped to the territorial centers. The Caribou, to his knowledge, had annual ceremonial burnings of their found remains and recovered artifacts made from them in the bad old days. However, he knew that there was also a vast archive of material, of which only a token snip might be taken for the ritual. The remainder was retained as examples and memorials, bodily elements turned to art. 

On one hand it seemed a bit morbid, but he'd seen examples and they were often great works of craftsbeastship. And the creators, wolves and bears mostly, had done their work with genuine respect and reverence. Even if they regarded their prey as 'food', that it lived and died was recognized and appreciated. 

That under dress in Hare pelts, that was a different matter. His people had been rather fatalistic about such things. Lynx and others might take them as prey, and on occasion, they would strike down attackers in turn. He had a necklace somewhere made of a mix of wolf and lynx teeth, and a pair of leggings for the deep cold made of cat as well. 

As with the other items, the piece was old, perhaps from his grandsire's generation. And with that, he had to wonder about how she got such. 

He looked back over at the sleeping cat. She seemed to be resting well enough, and her little buzz was not getting any worse. But she was not in good shape, to be out cross-country, as starved as she was? Answers would have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next days Little Sister recovered slowly. Between her collapse in the cold and longer-term starvation before, she was severely depleted and Albert had to moderate her desperate desire for food. 

"Albertwhosaves is cruel." The Lynx huffed, looking at the clearly inadequate plate of smoked fish he offered her. 

"Albert is keeping you from gorging yourself and getting sick, again." 

"Cruel Albertwhosaves is wise, but cruel." She glumly agreed, then dove into her meal with a grin.

Despite the stereotype of the wild tribes as stoic 'noble savages', Albert knew many to be rather jovial folks, at least among their own. And she was getting better. True, she spent most of her time eating or sleeping, but she had revealed that she was the last of her particular tribal group. She had been raised by her Great Mother, in a small den that contained the last of the tribal stores, cloths and tools and small decorative artifacts. 

"Can I ask, what happened to your people?" Albert asked in the most deferential fashion available to him. 

The Lynx made a sad little face. "I do not know. My Great Mother said that most had gone long before. What happened, she did not know. She did say my Mother, Father were taken by Ice Bears."

That was not a surprise. While the White Bears of the North were slow to more peaceful ways, they had customs that could make for reasoned approach, mostly. But there were the occasional solitary male, a dangerous breed apart, apt to kill and eat anyone, even other bears, that crossed their path. 

"How did you get by? Foraging? Hunting?"

"Mostly trade." She looked away sadly. "Our carvings, beadwork, some tools. For fish and fowl." Then with a more guilty look back at the Hare, "And some hunting."

Albert didn't want to pry, but Little Sister saw his look. "It was always fair challenge. The Little Food surprises with how many will say yes." She held out her paw, "They are fierce spirit." There was a wicked scar across her palm and pad. "I was honor-bound to let that one go." 

Many of the even most 'wild' predator tribes held to ritual combat rather than simply killing like a savage animal. So even a vole could 'win' a fight with a much larger beast. And since both parties had a chance of surviving the contest, many erstwhile prey folk were less fearful of the challenge than one might expect, even if the odds were against them. 

"I never took one of your folk, though did surprise one." The Lynx frowned. "She was prepared to fight me. Did not know the common challenge. But I could tell she was a Mother." 

That was another thing. Challenges could be refused and the potential meal was left in peace, usually. The one exception was Mothers, especially when they were nursing. For most tribes taking, or even threatening a Mother was one of the strongest taboos. In some circumstances, a Mother could even ask for a kind of sanctuary. 

Albert was still very curious as to where, exactly, had she come from, and brought out some maps. "Little Sister, these are 'maps' pictures of the land." He first pointed out a local map, "Here we are, with the stream, and the pass, and the great river to the north."

The Lynx cocked her head for a moment, then smiled broadly, "Yes! And the rocky plains off the slopes there." Pointing with confident precision to the rugged lands to the north and east.

"Exactly. And here a wider view." The Hare brought out a larger map in a larger scale, covering the whole the territory. "Here we are, again, and see more to the east."

"Oooh!" Little Sister was fascinated with all that the map revealed. And over the next hours, she recounted in detail her travels. In short, she had traversed most of the continent, skirting the northern edge of the sub-arctic tree line. Her home ground had been in one of the eastern provinces, in a region presumed to be of marsh and muskeg that had been left largely unpenetrated by modern mammals. 

"There are trees still across here." Little Sister explained, pointing at the empty sections on the map. It would fit the known tree line. But the map was already some years old and the new century had not quite caught up with this remote outpost. 

"Albertwhosaves, what is the magic in these marks? You see them and make them into words."

Albert laughed. "Not magic, just symbols for sounds." And he sounded out several of the names on the map. 

She looked at the words on the map intently, "Are there different symbols for the different tongues?" 

"Not necessarily. These are just sound symbols, so can make any tongue's speech." And Albert went to one of the shelves to pull a book out. 

While business in most trade good waxed and waned, literature for those could appreciate it was always in demand. And along with books sold or exchanged, he had a fair number of primary readers for those, young or old, who were keen on learning. This particular book was in both Zooian and the Trade Tongue and had blank pages for writing exercises. 

"Let me show you how it works." He began, sounding out some common words, then speaking his own Family Tongue and writing those words down. 

Little Sister gasped in comprehension, "And you can write in my tongue too?"

Albert smiled, "Even better, I can teach you how to do it for yourself." 

And so began an intense effort for Little Sister to learn to read and write. While she had a deft hand and could replicate the letters with minimal effort, it took time to learn what the letters were and she quickly became frustrated with her sense of limited progress. 

Then Albert would remind her that she'd only been at for a few hours, then only a few days. 

"Most folks take many seasons, even whole years to learn how to read and write." 

"But it is so simple! Sound symbols and sounds symbols together for words!" Little Sister whined yet again. "Too weak and stupid to learn!" 

Albert snorted. "Little Sister trekked across nearly the whole of the continent alone. Is she now going to let those simple sound symbols beat her?"

The Lynx growled.

"Besides, what else are we going to do now that the snows have come?"

She huffed with the truth of that. Winter was the time of waiting, and otherwise idle paws often set to work on the various decorative arts. Albert was no artisan, but did have all those books, and had even translated a few of his favorites from Zooian to the Trade Tongue. Not that there were many who could read such, but this was not the first winter with a guest/student, and having extra motivation to learn never hurt.

And so Little Sister struggled on. When she wasn't actively working on her reading and writing she was pawing through the various illustrated volumes and was amazed at the variety of other mammals out in the world. Though when she first came to elephants, she stopped in surprise.

"Albertwhosaves, who are these folk, and where do they live now?" 

"Pachyderms, elephants. Originally from the hot places in the world." And Albert rose to fetch an atlas to point out the equatorial regions where the various species came from.

"No. They've lived here. I've seen their bodies, their bones. The old stories tell of how they once ruled here." 

"Oh?" Albert thought a moment, then remembered. He sought out another volume, this one on prehistoric beasts. "Those must have been Mammoths. An ancient people that died out long ago.* You said you saw bodies?" He'd heard about any number of bones about, and the small trade in ancient ivory.

"Just once, frozen in a river bank, though have heard of others." Little Sister explained as she marveled at the illustration. "All these are people who have passed?" as she pawed through the pages. 

"Yes. Though those things, called dinosaurs, were just huge lizards of some kind." 

"Lizards?" There were no reptiles that far north.

Albert pawed through another book and found a section on reptiles. "These are animals who live in the warmer lands. Lizards and snakes and turtles." 

"Have you seen these animals too?" 

Albert noticed the stress on the word animal, "No, I've always lived here in the north. And, yes, they are just animals. Like fish, some folk eat them as simple meat." Though he always had an inward cringe with such thoughts, as his folk were regarded as merely food not so long ago. But there was no sign of mind in those creatures, no extended life cycle, regardless of size, as with all modern mammals. 

With that and similar revelations, Little Sister became even more keen on learning to read, and by extension, to write. However, when it came time to transcribe her native tongue, there were complications.

"Albertwhosaves, who does one write this word?" 

While Little Sister was learning much of the basics of sounding out words, some of the interplay of vowels were still confusing her, so Albert was prepared for another little clarification. 

"Yes? And the word is?"

What she said was a tangle of sounds that had him stumped. Until he recalled that his dictionary included a section on pronunciation. With a little study, he found a usable approximation. "Do you have other words with special sounds?"

Little Sister made a face. All words had sounds. But she knew what he really meant and delighted in recalling various tongue twisters, especially compound words that needed rhythm as well as pronunciation. 

"Next we'll both need to learn musical notation to get it right." He half-joked. 

"Music can be written too?" She said in surprise.

"Oh, yes." And he rose to look through his bookshelf. "I can't really read music, but I can show you how it works. He found a hymnal and opened to a familiar song. Showing her the written words, then the musical notes, he then attempted to demonstrate. He did not have a melodious voice, but she quickly recognized the connections. 

"And that also works for musical instruments." And in that, Albert wished he had one of those phonographs. The tavern in town had one and it seemed like half the population would turn out to listen to one of the rare recordings that became available. Otherwise, the band could belt out some adequate tunes. But he couldn't play anything himself. 

"Can I make a flute?" Little Sister asked. 

"Can you? I mean do you know how?" 

"Maybe."

And the next several days were spent in several trial and error attempts at a flute. In the end, it was a small whistling instrument rather than a true flute, and only played four notes, sort of. But Little Sister could perform some cheerful little tunes out of it, as well as some more solemn pieces that she explained were normally done in accompaniment with special prayers or ceremonies. 

Albert wished he knew how to make musical notation, as he wanted to record her music as a cultural artifact. But for the time being, he enjoyed her playing and she even accompanied him as he tried to sing his favorite songs. 

00000

"Ho! Abertwhosaves! Caribou!" Albert was coming back from the line, having checked for tracks in the new snow, with a little stop at the far end for an armload of saplings to nibble. Little Sister was pointing up the pass; she had a little elevation on him and could see a bit further. 

He wanted to hurry, but there was just enough soft new snow to bog him down in the walk, and he wasn't going to waste energy by bounding. He had the great wide feet that gave his people the name "Snowshoe", and if he had to, those feet could find support in even the fluffiest powder. But to simply plod through the snow was a bit of a chore.

"Get a fire started in the stove in the fodder shed. We'll have guests tonight." He called back to her. She cocked her head for a fraction, then scampered off. 

Albert wondered which herd it might be. There were wild herds still, but they tended to stay away out of pride. They had always been endured the hard cold lands and loathed to appear to need anything. Then there were town-based folk who still went out to reaffirm their ancient ways, as well as mingle with their kin. Courting and mating would have been in the late summer to fall, and the small in-town population sought out a wider choice among the herds. 

As he got back to the house, he could then make out the herd. It was one of the mixed groups. He could see store bought coats and trousers among the snow capes and leggings, some of them made from trade blankets. Others were of furs. Caribou were not keen on such, but with the hunting challenges, they took advantage of any chance victory as they could.

Hospitality in the North was a given, and though Albert's cabin couldn't hope to accommodate the great beasts, he did have a large shed, to store fodder and offer some small shelter for those passing herds. Clean dry hay, some hot porridge and tea and shelter from the wind and worst of the cold would be on paw. 

Albert came out to greet the herd with elaborate formalities to exchange. To their view, they were entering his territory and they felt the need to do so without contention or unspoken expectation from either party. When assurances were affirmed, Albert waved them on to his compound.

One of the Cows spied Little Sister peeking cautiously out of the shed. "Hoi! You have a cat here! Is it bound?" 

"Little Sister is my winter guest this year. From the far eastern reaches."

"As long as it keeps the peace and stays away from our calves then." 

Albert hid his mirth at that. The Lynx, though a head taller than him, was little better than waist high to the towering deer. "I doubt she'll be a bother to anyone."

And so it was, as the Lynx seemed a bit intimidated by the herd of great beasts, and kept to the cabin for the most part while Albert acted as host.   
Then, as they all settled, he broached the subject of Little Sister's hide cape. 

"I have a thing, a cape of hide." He didn't need to elaborate. "Little Sister was wearing it when I found her. Appears to be many generations old. The detailing on it is of her folk, who I fear are now all gone, except for her."

Several of the elders were interested, many others exchanged slightly squeamish looks, while the younger ones were mostly confused, as this had not come up with this particular herd in some years.

Albert went to the cabin to fetch it, where he found Little Sister fretting. 

"Are they angry? Are they afraid?" She wrung her paws. Though the two had discussed the matter of turning over such objects at length, she couldn't help but look on at the cape with some longing, and touched it one last time before nodding for Albert to take it. 

"Things will be well enough. This doesn't look like any of their kin, nor would anyone living have any responsibility for it's taking." He gave her an encouraging look. "I would guess that some of them might even want to meet you."

The Cat was clearly puzzled by that, but did follow Albert out. 

While Albert went through some small ceremony in presenting the cape to a few of the elders, Little Sister was exchanging wary glances with the rest of the herd. 

One of the younger calves was a bit bolder and came up a bit closer. "You a 'big foot snow cat'?" In an awkward version of the trade tongue. 

Little Sister could not help but chuckle at that, holding up and wiggling her rather large paws. "Most call us 'Lynx'", Though she had to pause a moment to be sure she had said that right, as the trade tongue was new to her as well. 

At that, several of the other youngsters also approached, curious with the opportunity to meet the mystery cat. Even the youngest were still head and shoulders taller, and though Little Sister was an adult, her naturally playful instinct became evident as she tried to engage with them. 

There we a few wary snorts, and nervous glances back at supportive adults, then the calves romped up to get a closer look which then turned into a game of tag. 

There wasn't a lot of snow, nor was it all that deep, but the Lynx's wide pads and lesser weight helped her against the larger galumphing children. 

Albert was relieved to see her playing and was a bit amused at how the teenagers were looking on. Right then they were too busy trying to be 'grown up' around their slightly older kin who had only just paired off. 

As for Little Sister, though older in years, was only now discovering the simply joy of playing with others. Albert couldn't help but wonder what was to become of her in the long term. He didn't know of any Lynx tribes in the area, and there was only a single family in town and they were very much removed from the Old Ways. 

Well, for now, he could teach her as best he could of the ways of 'civilized' folk. If she could read and write, she would have a distinct advantage over too many others who came out of the wild. But beyond that? 

 

*I'm going to go with the notion of various ancient megafauna going extinct for reason other than early human activity, least the modern population be awfully re-mixed due to who passed and who evolved. That being said, I'm keeping some more recent species extant, like thylocenes, who are too cool to loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I do have ideas for how this may proceed, I don't know when, or even if I'll actually do any more.


End file.
